Royal Weddings(11)

“There you are.”

She heard the door close and glanced around as Gaston came strolling toward her.

His gaze raked her face. “What’s wrong?”

Without looking away from him, Meg gestured at the young couple wilting before her. “They can’t waltz—or at least, not well enough. And I can’t think how to help them.”

Gaston looked at the pair, then at Cicely, then turned back to Meg. “Simple. We’ll show them.”

Courtesy of Cicely, the waltz rang out again. Before Meg could gather her wits, Gaston had gathered her into his arms—and they were moving, effortlessly sweeping down the floor.

Instinctively, her body matched his, step for step, sweeping stride for stride. She could feel her skirts playing out around her, just as they should. His lean, muscled strength held her caged, yet was perfectly gauged so that she didn’t feel trapped, yet following his lead required not the smallest thought.

She shut her mouth, narrowed her eyes at him—but he merely smiled and continued waltzing, whirling her around, then steering her through a swift, sweeping turn. The temptation to close her eyes and savor was very real.

Dancing with him was all pleasure.

Satisfied she wasn’t going to balk, or even try to pretend she couldn’t or shouldn’t waltz with him, Gaston raised his head and nodded to Robert. “Like this. Do as I do—exactly as I do. Match your body, your movements, to mine.” He switched his gaze to Juliette and smiled encouragingly. “You must stop thinking about how others will see you, mignonne. Just mimic Meg, and all will go well.”

Lowering his voice so only Meg could hear, he murmured, “When I call Juliette mignonne, I mean dainty and delicate. When I call you mignonne, I mean something else.” Reassured the other two were doing as he’d bid them, he looked down and met her eyes. “Your butler, George, told me the dancing master was here but left. Why didn’t you demonstrate with him?”

“Because Phipps is half a head shorter than me.” She pressed her lips together as if to hold back more, but when he arched his brows, added, “Me dancing with Phipps would only have confused Robert and Juliette even more. Phipps might be the most expert dancing master in the ton, but whenever I dance with him, I invariably end up leading.”

Gaston barked out a laugh, then, eyes still laughing, tightened his hold on her. “That will never be a problem when you dance with me, mignonne.”

Ignoring the fact that he was now holding her too closely, that she could feel every seductive shift of his powerful body against hers, and was exquisitely aware of the muscled length of his thigh parting hers as they whirled, Meg sniffed, tipped her nose in the air and fought not to let her senses swoon with delight as he swung her through another turn.

By the end of the following hour Robert and Juliette were waltzing quite creditably.

And Meg felt breathless, exhilarated, her senses swept dizzyingly high on pure pleasure.



June 17, 1820, 2:00 P.M.

Durham House, London



The five of them shared a light luncheon, then Cicely took Juliette home, under strict instructions to ensure the bride rested for the remainder of that day and the coming night in preparation for her big day.

In the front hall, Robert bowed over Meg’s hand. “Thank you, Lady Margaret—I do not know how we would have managed without your help.”

Meg squeezed his fingers. “Thank me tomorrow, after it’s all over.”

Releasing her, Robert grinned at Gaston. “I must away and polish the ring.”

“Aha! Don’t forget to give the ring to Gaston.” Meg wagged a finger at them both. “I do not want any nasty surprises when you’re standing before the altar.”

Robert glanced at Gaston, as if unsure what their arrangements were.

“Do not worry,” Gaston said. “We have all that sorted out.”

Robert smiled, nodded, and left.

As George closed the door, Meg turned to Gaston, expecting him to take his leave, too.

He met her gaze, his expression sober. “I suggest, mignonne, that I help you finalize the seating arrangements for the chapel and the wedding breakfast. There are more people attending that you do not know, and many hidden dangers.”

As that was precisely the task she’d been about to wrestle with, and his knowledge of the French attendees was exactly what she needed, Meg accepted with a graceful nod. “Thank you. Your help would be appreciated.”

She hoped the look she cast him was warning enough that she would not appreciate any distraction.

He certainly saw it; his lips curved slightly, but all he did was wave her down the corridor to the library.

Once again they sat on the chaise and pored over her lists.